Please Talk to Me
by Genevieve Darcy Granger
Summary: It's not as dramatic as it sounds, but relationships are built on communication.
With the coming of December, the holidays were approaching once again at the X-Mansion. Normally everyone loved this time of year. The students that had a home were able to return to their families while the other children enjoyed the traditions carried out by the X-Men. Storm led them in Kwanzaa prayers, Kitty and Wanda lit the Menorah, and Kurt and Peter shared Christmas stories and caroling songs. Even those who weren't particularly religious could enjoy the winter time activities that Bobby organized from ice-skating competitions to snow-sculpting projects. Of course there were a few grumpy ones that sometimes managed to ruin the holidays for the others as well.

The Wolverine was the grouchiest one of them all. Normally he left the X-Mansion around the holidays, if he could help it. He'd go on one of his road trips to every shady Canadian bar or even take the long way to Japan by boat. This were, though, was different from the previous ones. For one thing, he was being forced to stay because of the increase in activity by the Brotherhood, so all members of the X-Men had to be on standby in case there were any attacks. For another, he wasn't going to have to spend Christmas alone this year when he had a new lover: Professor Genevieve Darcy Granger.

In all honesty, he loved Darcy. She loved him back as well. They were more than perfect together. The telepathic feral mutant took none of his shit and could hold her own in a fight against him as she was gifted with claws (just normal-ish claws on her fingers that replaced her fingernails) and the invincibility that Logan also had along with immortality. In fact, she was older than him if they approximated his age correctly; she was just over 200 years old. Darcy didn't age, so she had the beauty of a young woman in her 20s, but her looks were deceiving as she was very experience in a manner of all things. She was smaller than him, but stronger. She was nicer than him, but with a mean-streak scared people more than he ever could. As per her feral mutation, she had the affinity for tigers meaning that she had their nature, their claws, their fangs, their voice, and even their black stripes on the small of her back that she hated but he thought were beautiful. Fierce, independent, and tenacious, she balanced all of that with compassion, protectiveness, and just sex-appeal. Her sass rivaled his snark, and on any day she could outwit him easily. Once they had a drinking contest, and she quite easily drunk him under the table. In battle she had his back, and in the night she had his cock buried between her legs. When morning came, she made him the most delicious breakfast imaginable. God, he loved her and had no idea why she loved him.

So when Christmas time rolled around, he tried his best to not be as sullen and surly as he normally is around this time of year. Besides, how could he be pissed off all the time when he had a very willing woman in his bed every night? She even told him that she went into heat around the holidays, so he already had his hands full trying to satisfy her. When he wasn't in blissful pleasure with her, he was eating her delicious baked goods or falling asleep because she wore him out. Already this Christmas was better than any of his previous ones.

One day he was sitting in the living room, absentmindedly listening to Kurt, who was dressed up like one of Santa's elves, read the children _A Christmas Carol_ by Charles Dickens. Logan was dozing off at intervals, a combination of the warmth of the fireplace, delicious cookies in his belly, too much eggnog, and being completely sexually spent. He was nearly asleep when he felt the couch shift underneath him at the weight of someone else sitting next to him. Trying to rouse himself, he only relaxed when he felt an all too familiar hand gently pull him by the shoulder to rest his head upon chest. Darcy wrapped a blanket around him, then her arms, and sat there holding him until he fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

When he woke up, it was in a darkened room, the fire burned down to only embers now that gave him just enough light to see by. It had to have been a few hours, but it was a nap that refreshed him enough that he knew he woke up on his own accord. Instead of sitting up and going to his room, he nestled further down into the tender embrace of his lover, taking this all in. In his sleep she had shifted them both until she was stretched out on the couch with him sprawled across her like a throw-blanket. His head was pillowed on her breasts, his arms were wrapped around her waist, and his feet were dangling off the end of the couch. It was a very comfortable position for him, but one he was sure that made her sore.

Logan carefully tried shifting his weight off of her so he could spoon into her side, but he heard Darcy's sleepy moan and froze in his movements. "I know you are awake, Carcajou," her voice brushed against his ears in the softest of sighs, "stay where you are, here, with me." Darcy ran her hands through his hair, the scratch of her claws through his scalp both simultaneously arousing and soothing.

Lifting his head to look at her face, he saw her staring down at him with half-lidded amber-orange eyes. Well, not half-lidded exactly, but squinting eyes. Her glasses must have come off at some point during the night, though he liked to say her eyes were half-lidded because he knew she only did that when she was very content – and that was normally after a bout of sex. "Am I too heavy for ya, darlin'?" he asked her in a sleep roughened voice.

Her responding chuckle jostled him slightly as it spread from her chest to her stomach. "No, Carcajou, you're fine. More than fine actually." The scrape of her palm against his stubble hissed in unison with her happy purr. "You're so warm."

"You are, too." Logan wriggled until he moved further up her body, his face closer to hers. He leaned into her touch, and breathed easily under her sweet attention.

For a while they remained that way, with her hands roaming over his body in a variety of ways, from the lightest of touches of her fingertips to his lips, which he kisses, to the firm pressure of her knuckles pressing down the length of his back in a massage she knew he liked. His own hands were trapped underneath her body, squeezed between the combined weight of them both and the coach. Miraculously, his hands weren't numb, so he splayed his fingers underneath her shirt until he could gently stroke his thumb over the raised skin of her stripes. Her stripes had a different texture than her skin, softer and yet rougher as well. He liked the feel of them on the pads of his fingers.

He had nearly started snoring again when Darcy heaved a deep sigh, the breath rushing over his face enough of a sensation to cause him to open his eyes. Looking up at her face, he saw her eyes were closed but he could tell that she was not asleep just yet. Her claws ran over his side, and he jerked, ticklish. Immediately her hands stilled, resting gently on his shoulder blades before she resumed her movements of stroking him lovingly. Now sleep couldn't find him even if he wanted to sleep, but he didn't. Logan would rather stay away all night staring at her lovely face in the red glow of the fireplace. Her brown skin practically glowed golden in this light, and he didn't think he had ever seen a more beautiful sight than her.

"Please talk to me." Darcy suddenly spoke into the dark, her eyes still closed. Her hands came up to cup his cheeks, fingers gently stroking his beard. "I can feel you staring at me. Is something wrong, Carcajou?"

Uncharacteristically tender with her, he pressed a kiss into both of her palms. "Open your eyes and see for yourself, darlin'."

"I'd rather not. My glasses were broken today, and with this low lighting I won't be able to see you properly." She tapped his nose once. "My hands will be my eyes for now, but please, tell me what you're thinking."

"You're a telepath, darlin'. Why don't you just read my mind?"

"Logan," she spoke his name and he knew she was serious. "I've never read your mind without consent before."

That statement gave him a pause. He had to think it over and there wasn't a single time he could recall her ever looking into his mind without permission. This was important, considering she had made it clear that she looked into other people's mind without a care. "Darcy, you can look in my mind whenever I want."

Darcy's thumb stroked over his mouth, and he sucked it between his lips, his tongue teasing and his teeth gently nipping at the digit he caught. "I'd rather listen to you talk to me in that sexy voice all day long."

Releasing the digit, he growled to her not unkindly, "What do you want me to say?"

Now her hands went around his neck, her claws just barely buried in the hair at the back of his neck. "Say that you love me." What she said made him want to laugh. He had to bury his face in the valley of her breasts to muffle the too loud sound in the quiet house where everyone was asleep. In response, her legs came up to wrap around his hips, her bare feet pressing into his rear as she lifted herself to grind against him. "I can your laugh vibrate all the way down your chest. It feels so good."

Lifting his head to look at her face, her eyes still closed, he could tell that her heat was flaring up again. He'd have to take her again soon. Before he could do that, though, he owed her something. "I love you, Darcy." He managed to get his hands out from underneath her, and now he used his freed hands to roll her shirt up her torso, pressing kisses to her belly along the way.

"Oh," Darcy sounded pleasantly surprised, and she removed her hands from him to raise her arms above her head, making it easier for him to undress her. Finally she opened her eyes, staring at him with wide amber-orange eyes that reflected the light of the fireplace so brilliantly. "I love you so much more, Logan."


End file.
